


Down For The Count

by neversaydie



Series: cock it and pull it [13]
Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Banter, Disabled Character, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Sickfic, consequences of the void, stubborn sammy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 12:59:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13881363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neversaydie/pseuds/neversaydie
Summary: "I'm not sick," he croaks, hoarse voice inspiring Ben to take a huge step backwards because is hefuckgetting sick right before he and Emily are going away for the weekend. "Oh come on, it's a tickle.""You sound like you've been gargling Ron's buckshot," perhaps it's a paranoid move to pull his t-shirt up over his face, and Sammy certainly scoffs at it, but Bencannotget sick right now."Is that a gay joke?""It's not a-" Ben cuts himself off indignantly when he realises Sammy's fucking with him. "Go home, dude!"[in which Sammy stubbornly insists he's not sick... which is a lie.]





	Down For The Count

Sammy is definitely, positively, absolutely not sick.  
  
"Dude," Ben does a double take when he arrives at the studio, drained and pale with dark circles ringing his eyes so he looks more garbage bear than human. "You look like shit. Are you sick?"  
  
Wrapped up in a sweater bearing the logo of some sports team and having forgone his contacts in favour of the thick-framed hipster glasses Ben teases him about whenever they make an appearance, Sammy doesn't look like himself in more ways than one. The way he shuffles into the studio like he's gone ten rounds with Kingsie doesn't instil much confidence either.  
  
"I'm not sick," he croaks, hoarse voice inspiring Ben to take a huge step backwards because is he _fuck_ getting sick right before he and Emily are going away for the weekend. "Oh come on, it's a tickle."  
  
"You sound like you've been gargling Ron's buckshot," perhaps it's a paranoid move to pull his t-shirt up over his face, and Sammy certainly scoffs at it, but Ben _cannot_ get sick right now.

"Is that a gay joke?"

"It's not a-" Ben cuts himself off indignantly when he realises Sammy's fucking with him. "Go home, dude! Chet's still in the break room, I can-"  
  
"Ben, I'm fine," the fact he breaks into a hacking cough suggests he's not fine, at all, but he shrugs off Ben's most withering look regardless. "I've done shows with way worse, trust me. Ask Jack about spring break in Texas sometime."  
  
"I'll do that, when I call him right now and get him to come pick you up," Ben already has his phone in hand, but Sammy waves him off quickly.  
  
"Don't bother him, I'm fine."  
  
"Sammy, you really shouldn't drive-"  
  
"Not only do I already have the car here, but he can't drive anyway," Sammy sits down in front of his mic wearily, fumbling with his headphones and struggling with the cable which… that had better just be tape it's stuck together with.  
  
"Wow, city life sure is different," Ben raises his eyebrows, briefly distracted from badgering his co-host into going home to die in peace rather than do it on the air. "I can't imagine not driving, I learned as soon as I could. Most people around here take their test when they're sixteen or whatever."  
  
"He's got a licence. He just can't, 'cause of the..." Sammy gestures vaguely to his head, and Ben suddenly understands he's stepping all over a touchy subject. Jack's absence seizures haven't got any worse lately... but they also haven't got any better. Last week he checked out in the middle of a rugby game and almost got his arm broken, so Ben figures - a little too late - that driving would be a spectacularly bad idea in his condition.  
  
"Oh, right. I didn't think of that," he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and sighs when he realises Sammy has finally wrestled his headphones on. "Seriously dude, you don't have to be here tonight. You're only gonna germ up the mic and infect the whole station."  
  
"So put a condom over it. C'mon, I thought you were a producer," Sammy seems way too nonchalant about that suggestion, as Ben just stares at him until he realises his friend has no idea what he's talking about. "It's a weather thing, for if it starts to rain or whatever in the field. It's uh, what do you call it… a 'pro tip'."

Ben - very generously - doesn't make fun of the air quotes.

"Do people really do that?" he mulls it over, considering. "Huh. That's smart. I'm sure I can find some among Chet's… personal effects."

"You should get Jack to give you a crash course on this stuff, he'd love it," the hint of wistfulness in Sammy's voice is quickly destroyed by the cough which follows it. The guy covers his mouth, of course, but all Ben can think of are the little tiny bastard germs crawling their way through the air to ruin his weekend.

"Alright, okay. Just don't breathe on anything until I get back," he hurries out of the studio, not even thinking about the potentially sticky consequences of venturing into Chet's personal space... not when he's got patient zero hacking up a lung at his desk.

He definitely snaps a picture of Sammy talking into a condom-covered mic for the King Falls AM Twitter feed, though. Just because.

As the show rolls on, it becomes increasingly obvious that Sammy isn't going to make it through. He starts flagging around the 2am mark, zoning out during an interview with Ella, the new head cook down at Rose's (who's single-handedly reinvented breakfast burritos, as far as Ben's concerned), to the point where his elbow slides off the desk and he almost collides with it face-first before he catches himself. It's not his finest hour.

The segments when he's more conscious are… also not his best work. Ben doesn't know how to explain it, exactly, but Sammy puts on more and more of a persona the more he's struggling for energy and focus. He doesn't know whether his friend is feverish or what it is, but he's more canned and snarking without his usual warmth, and just not acting like the Sammy they know and love.

"Dude, _go home_ ," Ben pleads, when he throws on a commercial around 3:30 and Sammy immediately slumps down in his seat with his head on the desk like a puppet with the strings cut. "You've done your best, you've done _way more_ than you should have. Let me… Look, Ron's supposed to call in later, I can ask-"

"It's fine, I'm fine," Sammy heaves himself up again, blinking heavily and trying to rally… although it doesn't look like there's much left in the tank. "I can do it."

"Sammy, I don't want you to take this the wrong way," Ben winces internally, because that's always a good way to start a conversation. "But I can tell you're struggling, and you're getting a little… _Shotgun-y_."

Sammy's head snaps up at that, fever-bright eyes fixed on Ben with a sudden clarity.

"Oh. Shit," he unsteadily pulls his glasses off and rubs a hand over his face, and Ben can't tell if he's embarrassed or upset by the observation. "I… I didn't mean to do that."

"It's not… It's not _bad_ , it's just not you. And we kinda like you the way you are, and like… not dead," Ben hedges his bets, queues another commercial to extend the break, and walks around the desk to take Sammy's headphones off for him. Much to his surprise, his friend doesn't object to the gesture. "Go lay down on the couch in the office, at least. See how you feel."

"...Fine," if Sammy knows it's just a ploy to get him to let his guard down enough to fall asleep, he doesn't show it.

Ben watches him shuffle out of the studio as if every limb aches and shakes his head, already pulling his phone out. He's ninety-nine percent sure his co-host will be asleep before their next caller dials in.

  


"Troy's on his way to pick him up," Sammy hears vaguely through his haze, but can't summon the energy to open his eyes and tell Ben he's fine. "I don't think it's doctor level, but he needs to actually rest for more than four hours at a time, maybe."

He can just _hear_ Jack on the other end of the line - _I told that dumb son of a bitch not to go anywhere, when he gets down that mountain I swear to god_ \- and it warms some deeply hidden part of him, despite the fact he's going to get thoroughly scolded when he's no longer at death's door.

"Yeah, it took a _lot_ of persuading to just get him off the air. He told me to ask you about spring break in Texas?"

 _That_ is enough to make Sammy rise from the dead, as he heaves his heavy head off the couch to try and put that particular can of worms to bed once it's already been opened.

"Ben-"

 _Oh my god! It was the most ridiculous shit I've ever experienced!_ He can hear Jack practically yelling through the phone. Sammy didn't _mean_ ask him about it while he was actively concerned about his health - they still argue about it to this day. _It was the middle of a heatwave, he had a hundred and two fever and refused to cancel, we ended up in the fucking emergency room-_

Sammy groans and buries his face in the cushions (thankful Merv agreed to shell out and get the couch steam cleaned after Chet's new year love-in took a turn this year), and decides he just won't come out until Jack forgets about Austin again. He'll just stay comfy and hidden from his boyfriend's wrath right here.

Next thing he knows, Ben is getting him up and out to Troy's truck. Sammy snores with his head against the passenger window all the way down the mountain, and gives Troy a hug - trying not to breathe on him - before wobbling into the house.

As he's passing out on the couch, before Jack can even make it down the stairs to see him, Sammy thinks - huh, maybe he is kinda sick after all.


End file.
